Tight Space

Sometimes I get bored,
Staring at the same spot.
I want a different view,
Tired of feeling distraught.
It's very closed in here,
Not much room at all.
If only I could move,
If only I could crawl.
I can't feel my legs,
I can't even speak.
Sometimes when I scream,
I make people shriek.
I tried to claw my way out,
But I have no nails.
Sometimes if I'm lucky,
I get greeted by the snails.
My family visits me,
But it hurts to see them cry,
I wish I could say hello,
But it would hurt to say goodbye.
If I knew it was this lonely,
Laying on an uncomfortable bed.
I would've decided, To
be cremated instead.
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Comments
hi Wayne I love this poem you tell it from being dead and laying there wait for family to come and hope thay don't cry wow I use to go see my mom and dad every now agin and you make wonder if thay say here comes greg agin I stop going bec it would shake me up and I would be so trid after but I felt better going wow this a great poem I wish I could write like this have a wonderful day peace and love to you
I love the photo the raven sitting on the grave
Very cool. The picture you chose made it easier and brings the feeling your trying to paint. Completely understanding the dead soul. love it.